


You're My Temptation

by morganoconner



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes to a club. Things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Temptation

Dean doesn’t know how he ended up on the dance floor in a nightclub he can’t even recall having the intention of going into. He doesn’t know how he ended up in this press of warm bodies, twisting and gyrating and _grinding_ to the rhythm of the music pounding through them. And he definitely doesn’t know how he ended up pressed against one in particular, a pair of pale hands at his waist, a smirk tilted up at him, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

All he knows is that the stranger he’s dancing with intrigues him far more than he should, from his cap of artfully mussed dark hair all the way down to his ridiculous snakeskin boots, and Dean just _wants_ , more than he has in a hell of a long time. Judging by the hard length he can feel pressed against him, he’s not the only one.

But it still doesn’t prepare him when one hand moves, sliding from his waist and trailing over and down until it’s cupping him through his jeans and _jesus fuck_ that feels good, and Dean gasps sharply, his own hands clenching on the guy’s hips. “Dude, public place,” he grits out on a ragged breath.

The hand on his crotch squeezes, and okay, that is definitely _not_ a whimpering sound Dean’s making now. At all. The stranger leans forward, his breath caressing Dean’s ear. “That’s never stopped me before,” he murmurs in a smooth English accent that, up until now, Dean never would have considered a turn-on. “Though you may want to try and keep quiet, if you can.” He pulls back, and that smirk widens as he presses closer to Dean.

“Hey, I got limits pal,” Dean tries to say, but then the guy flicks open the button on his jeans and undoes the zip with quick fingers, and Dean forgets that he’s supposed to be protesting this.

He’s also _exceptionally_ glad he couldn’t find his belt this morning.

Still, even with the anticipation of those fingers sliding around his achingly hard cock, he’s having trouble wrapping his head around what this guy’s about to do in the crush of all these people. People who are brushing against Dean as they dance around him, people who can’t possibly be this stupid, and oh, God, that hand is dipping into his boxers and _fuck, holy **fuck**_ …

Dean whines low in his throat, his head dropping to the guy’s shoulder as his cock is stroked in swift, sure pulls. There’s a nip of teeth at his earlobe, and Dean is hushed when he almost cries out. His teeth sink into the black silk covering the guy’s shoulder, and a hissing laugh brushes across his ear.

And then the stranger’s other hand is pushing the front of Dean’s jeans and boxers down, making it easier to pull his cock out, and _oh, God, in front of all these people, fuck, fuck, fuck…_

Three more pulls, and Dean is coming with a soft moan, pulsing white-hot into the guy’s hand and across that pristine black shirt, and Dean’s going boneless as the guy’s arm wraps around him to hold him upright even as his other hand continues stroking him through the aftermath…

When he manages to finally gather a few brain cells back together, Dean’s head whips up, and he stares around in a panic, only breathing again when he realizes that no one has taken any notice of him and his companion. It enters his mind to wonder how much he would really have cared if someone had, but he quickly shuts the door on that thought because there are some things he just never needed to know about himself.

“So then,” the stranger says, deftly tucking Dean away and zipping him back up before winding his arms around the hunter. He ducks his head and peers up, and from this angle, Dean can see yellow eyes and slitted pupils, and he’s just in the process of freaking out when the guy continues. “Got time to return the favor before your angel will be missing you?”

Dean hisses out a breath. “Who –”

The guy’s eyes roll beneath those dark sunglasses. “Bloody hunters, always getting their knickers in a twist. Let’s just say I’m…a friend of a friend’s friend, hmm?”

There’s no way, _no way_ Dean shouldn’t be grabbing for his gun right now and getting some damn answers, asking this guy who and _what_ the fuck he is, and how he knows about Cas, and what he wants with Dean, but for some reason…

For some reason what comes out of his mouth instead is, “I got some time.” He smirks. “And a room. With _privacy_.”

The look his companion graces him with is downright _wicked_.


End file.
